


An Unexpected Visitor

by flawedamythyst



Series: S3 Episode Codas [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3.03 Spoilers. The final in my episode codas (you'll need to read the first two to understand it.)</p>
<p>John visits Sherlock while he's in custody.</p>
<p>Thanks to TheMarcusCircus for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Visitor

Mycroft had Sherlock stashed in a top secret cell, buried in a basement deep under his office. He took John down in a lift that seemed to take forever, and John couldn't keep his fists from clenching with impatience and frustration. Mycroft calmly stared at a wall as if John hadn't been threatening him with all kinds of violence a few minutes ago.

There were a pair of guards outside the cell and John felt the anger rise up in him again at the idea that Sherlock would need _guarding_.

“You may have fifteen minutes,” Mycroft said to John. “After that, Carlisle will escort you out of the building. Please don't make a fuss about it.”

“Fifteen minutes?” repeated John. He shook his head. “Half an hour.”

Mycroft let out a world-weary sigh. “This is not a negotiation, Doctor Watson.” 

He turned to go back to the lift and John had to clench his teeth to stop himself from throwing something at his back. That would definitely be a bad idea in front of two highly-trained guards.

When he was let into the cell, Sherlock was collapsed onto the bed, limbs sprawled out all over the place.

“Piss off, Mycroft,” he said, without opening his eyes.

“I'm not Mycroft,” said John, and the effect was instantaneous. Sherlock nearly fell off the bed in his leap to get upright and then stared as if seeing a mirage.

“Hello,” said John, feeling more in control now that he could see that Sherlock was here and unharmed. His eyes wandered around the room, which was surprisingly well-appointed for a secret underground government prison cell. In addition to the bed, there was a desk with a handful of newspapers and files spread across it, a more comfortable-looking chair than John would have expected, and a small wardrobe. “Not quite 221B,” he commented.

Sherlock ignored him. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Mycroft said-”

“Bugger Mycroft,” said John, with feeling.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. “You've spent a lot of time with him recently. Not constant, but regular – oh. Oh, you've been nagging him.”

John snorted. “Not what I'd call it, but yeah. I told him I'd come back every day until he let me see you. That was the day after you were. Well. The day after everything.”

“That was two weeks ago,” said Sherlock.

“Yes,” said John. “Today was the day he finally cracked.”

Sherlock's eyebrows raised. “Impressive,” he said. “He must have had a withstanding-torture top-up course recently.”

“I'm not that bad,” said John.

“You're exactly that bad,” said Sherlock. “Did you give him the look? And do the restrained-shouting thing? He'll have hated that – makes him look bad in front of his minions.”

“Bugger his minions,” said John.

Sherlock smirked. “I see you're in a sweary mood today.”

He sat back down on the bed, gesturing at the chair as if inviting John to sit down for Sunday tea. John pulled it over so that he was closer to Sherlock. Somehow, after two weeks apart, and knowing what was coming after this, the extra metre between the desk and the bed seemed too far.

“Yeah, well, he told me the deal you've agreed to,” he said.

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “It's better than the alternatives,” he said, in a tone that sounded like he was repeating something someone had told him.

John let out a long sigh. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He ran a hand over his face. “God, Sherlock, why did you have to do it? We could have found some other way, come up with something, but this- There's no going back from murdering a newspaper magnate in front of half of SCO19.”

“I analysed the options, and this was the one with the best outcome,” said Sherlock stiffly.

“Not for you!”

Sherlock waved that away. “There were three people to consider in the situation. Four if you include the baby, although I think that would be a little premature. This outcome is the best overall. You and Mary can build your lives and your family together without any hindrance or fear.”

John stared at him. How could he really believe that was the best outcome? “But also without you,” he pointed out.

Sherlock gave a tiny shrug and stared down at the floor. “Something had to be sacrificed. Besides, my influence in your life has put your life in danger multiple times, and-”

“For God's sake, Sherlock!” John interrupted. “I _like_ that! You know I do – you keep pointing it out!”

Sherlock drew in a careful breath and then continued as if John hadn't said anything. “It also complicates things for you emotionally, in ways that make you prone to bursts of anger interspersed with attempts to distance yourself from the situation.”

John gaped. “That's not-” he started, but only weakly. The truth was that he couldn't entirely deny it. Instead, he darted a tongue out over his lower lip. “Yeah, okay,” he admitted. “But I was getting better. I've been working on it.”

“I know,” said Sherlock, not meeting John's eyes. “This way, the entire situation is resolved.”

John laughed. “Hardly,” he croaked. He stopped to take a deep breath and shake his head. This was the closest they'd come to actually talking about this since a train carriage and a ticking bomb. He supposed there was a ticking bomb now as well, though. “Sherlock, you can't seriously think that your absence will make my feelings go away? I spent two years mourning you, and yet they were still there when you came back.”

Sherlock's throat convulsed. John could see his fingers twitching against the bed sheets as if wanting to grip at them, but he restrained himself. “You want them gone,” he said in a voice that struggled to be emotionless.

God, what had John done? “No. No, I don't. Not at all. They're part of, of us. I couldn't wish anything about us away.”

Sherlock's gaze finally rose from the floor and he stared at John with a mixture of awe and confusion.

John took a deep breath, forcing himself to do this. This was going to be one of the last times he saw Sherlock. He couldn't let him leave without telling him this. “Mary and I have been having a lot of talks,” he said. The apparent change in topic took Sherlock by surprise and he opened his mouth to comment, but John forged on. “It felt a lot like I didn't – like there were bits of her I didn't know at all. We've been relearning each other, I suppose, making sure we're still the same two people who got married. She told me a lot of stuff about her past – not the, not the killing people bits. About her childhood, and things like that. Why she decided to become Mary Morstan, and how she chose the life she set up for her. That kind of thing.”

Sherlock nodded, but he still looked mystified.

“And, in turn,” said John, “I told her the secret I was keeping. About you, and- you know. How I feel.” He couldn't bring himself to say it. Apparently, he really did need a bomb for that.

“Ah,” exhaled Sherlock slowly. “A new era of openness in the Watson marriage. And how did she react?”

John snorted. “She knew. Said it was obvious. And she said she knew about you, too.” He can't help the tentative tone he said that with. Even after the kiss in the tube station and the things Sherlock had said at his wedding, John still couldn't really bring himself to believe that Sherlock Holmes, who suppressed all emotion and sentiment as worthless, might have those kinds of feelings for him.

Sherlock regarded him for a moment, and then said, “That I'm in love with you?” in a clear, precise voice, clearly meant to put to rest any of John's doubts.

John sucked in a breath. “God, Sherlock,” he said, scrubbing both his hands over his face. “This is-” He didn't have a word for it.

“Yes,” agreed Sherlock. There was silence for a moment, and then he spoke again. “However, my absence will simplify matters.”

“No, it won't,” said John, looking up at him. “It really won't, Sherlock. This bloody stupid deal you've made with Mycroft, going off and being a spy for him, how the hell does that simplify anything? You're going to be off in danger, and I'll be at home, just waiting for the news that you've been killed. Or, more likely, waiting for the news that you've just disappeared and no one knows if you're alive or dead. It's so wrong that I got you back for less than a year, and now I have to let you go again.”

He could hear the emotion choking up his voice, so he stopped and took a deep breath, shutting his eyes against the look on Sherlock's face. After a second, there was a tentative touch to his hand and he opened his eyes to see all the pain he was feeling reflected back in Sherlock's face.

“It's better than the alternatives,” said Sherlock again, but this time he sounded as if it cost him to admit that.

John turned his hand over to clutch at Sherlock's. It should have felt strange, but instead it just felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

“Mary said that she'd never thought any of us were conventional people,” he said. “She said that- she said that she was waiting for me to tell her, so that she could say it was okay. She said-” He stopped and had to take a deep breath. “She said she'd have been okay if we'd come to an arrangement. Some sort of sharing thing, or- I don't know. She had words for it, but I was a bit too gobsmacked to take them in, to be honest.”

“A polyamorous V-shaped triad,” said Sherlock.

John huffed a laugh. “Of course you know them.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “I wanted to be sure what it was I wanted,” he said. “Mary is correct; that would be the best solution, if both of you would find it acceptable.”

John stared at him. “Are you kidding? Of course it's acceptable to me. Why wouldn't I want to have both of you? It seems harsh on you though. You _and_ her, but she was the one who suggested it.”

“I hardly think it's 'harsh' to be able to finally have you,” said Sherlock. “I'd be- I'd be honoured.” He took a long breath, his eyes riveted on their joined hands.

Without warning, he leapt to his feet and strode across the room to sweep the detritus off the desk. “This is infuriating! My plane leaves in three days!”

John stood up. “Sherlock,” he said, but he had no idea what to say after that. There was no way to make this better.

Sherlock swirled around, his eyes blazing, and ran his fingers up to claw at his hair. John just stared back at him, wishing for the thousandth, millionth time that he could undo this whole thing. He couldn't, though. All he could do was walk to Sherlock and gently pull his hands out of his hair, replacing them with his own.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and then pulled Sherlock down into a kiss.

Sherlock only hesitated for a fraction of a second before returning the kiss, gripping at John's shoulders and pulling him in close. It was desperate and hard, and all John could think was that this was going to be the only chance they had to do this. He'd wasted the time they had, and now there was only this. Him and Sherlock and a prison cell, and a coming separation that was going to tear them apart.

He was probably holding Sherlock’s head too hard, but he couldn't bring himself to loosen his grip, not even when Sherlock tore his mouth away to rest his forehead against John's instead.

“John,” he said in a voice that was practically a sob.

“Yeah,” agreed John.

There was a knock on the door. “Time's up, sir!”

“One minute!” shouted back John. God, how could he leave now, how could it end like this? Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, all that they'd meant to each other, and it was coming to an end.

Sherlock wrenched himself away and took a step backwards, and John could see the shutters coming down over his face.

“Mycroft said he'll send a car so Mary and I can see you off at the airport,” said John, trying to stop him closing everything off.

Sherlock looked surprised. “How sentimental of him. Well, then this isn't goodbye.”

“Not yet,” said John, quietly. It was close enough to it, though.

“Sir, I'm afraid Mr. Holmes was very clear,” said the guard outside again. John supposed he should be grateful that he hadn't just come in, but he was finding it hard to be thankful for anything in this situation.

“He's coming,” called Sherlock. He looked at John and for a moment John saw all the emotions surging through him, before it was all packed away again. “You should go. Don't want to upset Mycroft until after I've gone. After that, feel free to cause him as much trouble as possible.”

John managed a weak smile. “I'll make sure to silly string his car, or something.”

“Do,” said Sherlock.

There was an awkward pause as they both stared at each other. John found himself trying to take in every detail of Sherlock's face and imprint it on his memory. Eventually, he forced himself to step away, back to the door. “Goodbye,” he said, trying to sound casual but unable to stop his voice breaking on the word.

Sherlock just gave a curt nod. John took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and opened the door to the cell.

“John,” said Sherlock, and John glanced back. “One thing. You've gone off to war, you must know how uncomfortable and unpleasant emotional displays at the airport can be.”

John nodded. “I'm not going to cry all over your suit jacket,” he said.

“Given our history, I was more concerned about violence,” said Sherlock, managing a weak smile.

John returned it. “I won't make you bleed over it either.”

He had to force himself to leave. When the door shut behind him, it felt like half of who he was had been left behind the door. He took a deep breath, glared at the guards, and headed for the lift.


End file.
